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Ray and Fraser were at Turnbull's empty desk getting ready to go out when the Ice Queen's door opened and she stormed out. Her eyes fell on the men, and she stopped.
“Are you leaving, Fraser?” she asked curtly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Are your duties completed for the day?”
“I believe so, sir.”
“I don't think they are.” Her tone was clipped with irritation.
Fraser stopped in the act of putting on his jacket. “I beg your pardon?”
She waved the papers in her hands at him. “These forms are incomplete. You've missed one whole section, and you forgot to fill in number thirty-seven. When I receive reports from you, Constable, I expect them to be both on time and done correctly. Is this an unreasonable expectation?”
“No, sir. Of course not. Are you sure I...” Her expression grew sterner, and she folded her arms. She held herself so stiffly that Ray thought a good stiff wind might break her in half. The image amused him as Fraser stepped towards her and continued, “Sorry, sir. I'm sure you're not mistaken.”
She thrust the document at him, and he took it very gently. She fumed as Fraser went to Turnbull's desk and sat down to complete his work.
“Hello, Inspector,” Ray said, fidgeting slightly since he was suddenly forced into inaction.
“Detective,” she answered coldly.
“How're things?” he asked.
She studied his face for a moment before saying, her voice toneless and excessively polite. “Things are running adequately, I suppose.” She paused before adding, “And with you?”
“Can't complain.” He grinned at her.
She seemed to analyze his words, checking them over for some insult.
“You are aware that Fraser will be unavailable tomorrow?”
Ray felt a spark of anger. He had recently discovered that Fraser would be standing four hours of sentry duty after his regular shift the next day, and it pissed Ray off. The two of them had been planning to use their matching evening off to go Christmas shopping and now, because of some whim of Thatcher's, they'd have to put it off. Besides, it wasn't fair to Fraser to make him stand out in the freezing cold after working all day. Who was he supposed to be defending the Consulate from anyway? Demented elves? A renegade snowman? Homicidal reindeer?
He fought to keep his expression bland because he didn't want the Ice Queen to know her words had affected him.
“Yeah. I heard somethin' like that.”
“Good.”
“And I think it stinks.” So much for appearing unaffected, he thought. She raised an eyebrow at him but didn't say anything, so he added, “A guy shouldn't be expected to work a full shift and then stand outside in the middle of winter for four hours. It's supposed to snow tomorrow.”
Fraser stopped writing and glanced up with a pained expression. The Inspector didn't seem to notice him at all as she icily asked, “Are you questioning me, Detective?”
“Yeah, I think I am.”
“Then, I guess it's a good thing I don't answer to you, isn't it?” If possible, the temperature in her voice dropped further.
“Oh, I know you'll do what you want. I just think it's rotten, that's all.”
“When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it.”
Ray turned away before he said something he'd regret and asked Fraser, “You done yet?”
“Almost, Ray.”
“Well, hurry up. Pitter Patter, let's get at 'er.”
Fraser nodded and started writing again.
The Inspector waited silently and Ray snuck a look at her out of the corner of his eye. She was so still that she could have been carved from stone, and he wondered if this patient stillness had been learned in her own hours of sentry duty.
The picture came into his mind unbidden. She was dressed in red serge, her stance rigid, her hands at her sides. The uniform made her look small, slim and fragile, which Ray knew it wasn't supposed to do. In his vision, the rain was falling. It dripped from her hat and slid relentlessly down her pale cheeks. He studied the image with satisfaction, liking how his imagination was giving the Ice Queen some of her own medicine. She shivered with cold as the rain trailed down into her collar, but her face remained stoic and passive. Her hands would be frozen blocks of ice, he thought, and her toes would be numb. But she wouldn't flinch. She would stand there, proudly guarding her country from whatever improbable threats might be out there, determined not to show one iota of weakness.
Damn. How was it possible to admire someone and want to strangle them at the same time?
“Done,” Fraser announced, standing. “I apologize for my error, sir.”
Her stance softened slightly. “Just be more careful in the future, Constable.”
“Yes, sir.”
He handed her the papers and she politely nodded to Ray before going back in her office.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Ray said, “Wow.”
“What is it?” Fraser was putting his jacket back on, but stopped to give Ray a puzzled look.
“What's up with her?”
“Who?”
“The Ice Queen.”
“Oh,” Fraser said and then was silent as the two of them left the Consulate and started down the steps.
“She was even icier than usual,” Ray prodded. “How can you stand her?”
“The Inspector has reason to be displeased. She found out this morning that her request for leave to go home for Christmas has been denied for the second year in a row.”
The Consulate was almost eerily quiet when Ray entered it a few days later. Turnbull was outside standing sentry, and Ray thought he did it even better than Fraser. While Fraser always looked like a living, breathing person, Ray thought Turnbull seemed more like a statue. To someone who could barely sit still for two minutes, that was actually pretty admirable.
Thinking about this, Ray was about to cross the foyer so he could make his way to Fraser's office when he glanced towards the Ice Queen's door. It was open, and he could see her sitting there at her desk. Something about her posture made him forget about going to find Fraser. Instead, he quietly moved closer.
Her eyes stared sightlessly at her desk, and she didn't even seem to notice him. Sad eyes, Ray thought, and a sad face to go with them. He studied that face, taking in its unguarded expression with disbelief. She looked so sad and lonely, emotions he would never have thought to attach to the Ice Queen, and Ray had a crazy impulse to go into her office and comfort her. He knew the thoughts that came from feeling that way, he'd had to deal with them off and on ever since Stella left, and he found he didn't like seeing them in Inspector Thatcher's face.
He wondered if she were that sad all the time. Was it just Christmas in Chicago that was getting her down, or was it something else? He really hoped he hadn't done anything to add to it. The two of them didn't always get along, but he'd always liked her. She was pretty and smart and she refused to take any of his crap. The few times he had worked with her, he'd been impressed with her conviction and her strength. Sometimes, he'd even wondered what it would be like to touch her and whether her ice went down all the way through.
She stirred, and Ray stepped away from the door just before she looked up. Since she could see him, he pretended to just be approaching. He watched as she caught sight of him, and her features smoothed and her eyes iced over.
He knocked politely. “Hey.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is there something I can do for you, Detective?”
“Fraser in?”
“Yes. He's just finishing up his 1809B Report.”
“Then he's done?”
“His shift is over in five minutes.”
“Good. We're going shopping for our Secret Santa presents today. You get yours yet?”
“As a matter of fact, I have.”
“Better than me. I always wait 'til the last minute.”
“I see.”
She looked almost puzzled. Maybe she was wondering why he was talking to her. He should probably make a quick exit.
“Anyway, I'm off. Catch you later.”
“I'm sure you will,” she said dryly.
Ray grinned at her cheekily and turned away. As he made his way towards Fraser's office, he just couldn't get her sad and lonely face out of his mind.
Ray was furious.
The Ice Queen was working on his last nerve. He had come to the Consulate full of worry for Fraser and wanting to ask the Ice Queen to talk some sense into him since Ray couldn't. All Thatcher had to do was order Fraser away from Warfield's club, and the whole stupid mess would go away. Fraser would have to listen because he always listened to her, and Ray wouldn't have to worry about the consequences of his best friend trying to bully a crime boss into an apology. Ray's request was obviously reasonable, but she refused to be reasonable. In fact, she refused to involve herself in Fraser's free time at all.
“Don't you care that he could get both him and me in a lot of trouble?” he demanded, glaring at her to let her know just how angry he was.
She met him glare for glare, fire making the golden flecks in her eyes sparkle.
“Don't tell me how to do my job, Detective,” she bit out hotly.
Ray frowned and snapped, “Somebody should.”
Her face colored and her eyes narrowed. “You don't know anything about what I do here. Until you've walked in my shoes, you would be wise to keep your opinions to yourself.”
Her body was rigid and Ray could tell he'd hit a nerve. He wanted to growl at her, he was so angry. His hands clenched and he spat out the next words that came into his mind. The thought was vulgar and probably sexist, but he didn't care.
“You're so uptight! You know what you need?”
The Inspector's mouth dropped open, and it was obvious that she caught his meaning when he saw the shock of his words flicker over her face. Her eyes flashed as she crossed her arms and raised her chin defiantly.
All the heat had leeched out of her voice when she asked, “No. Why don't you inform me, Detective?”
Ray was walking on thin ice. He knew it by the way it cracked and shifted under his feet and by the knot that was forming in his belly, but he was still angry. The words were right there on his tongue, ready to spill out and fill her with rage. She didn't think he dared to say them, but he'd show her. He wasn't afraid of the Ice Queen.
“Well? I'm waiting,” she prodded.
As he opened his mouth to answer her, an image came to his mind. He saw her as he had just a couple of days before when she hadn't known he was watching. Unguarded. Lonely. So sad.
His anger cooled with the thought, and he realized that some of her stubbornness and anger could come from trying to be so damn Inspector-like all of the time. What she needed wasn't sex, he decided. That wasn't it at all. She needed something else altogether.
Before he could stop them, an entirely different set of words tumbled out of his mouth.
“When was the last time somebody hugged you, Inspector?”
She paled and took an instinctive step back. “What kind of question is that?”
He shrugged nonchalantly, watching her carefully. “One I wanna know the answer to.”
She just stared at him. Not coldly, as he would have expected, just looking a little stunned as if the concept of someone thinking her huggable was unbelievable.
“I think you need one,” he continued.
Her wall slammed back up, and she snapped, “Don't be ridiculous.”
He ran his eyes over her face. It was closed off now, but he was determined to find a way through the wall she had put between them. She was ice on the outside, but he knew that other woman he had glimpsed was beneath it, and he wanted to reach her.
“You'd feel better.”
She lifted an eyebrow at him. “And I suppose you're offering.”
Ray hadn't quite realized until that second that that's where he'd been heading, but that was definitely what he wanted. He thought about how warm and soft she would feel in his arms, and he thought about the loneliness he had seen etched in her face.
“Sure. C'mere.”
He could see in her face that the Inspector hadn't expected him to call her bluff as Ray quickly crossed the space between them. Her eyes widened but this time she didn't back away. She seemed smaller this close. Ray could see the graceful curve of her cheek and the strength in her jaw. He could also see the faint dark circles under her eyes.
“This is highly inappropriate,” she said firmly.
“Why?” He searched her face, wondering if this was going to end with her fist crashing against his nose. She didn't look angry. Uncomfortable. Nervous. Disbelieving. But not angry. “I don't work for you.”
He was close enough to see the acceptance of this in her eyes. Still, she protested softly, “Ray...”
If she thought saying his name would deflect him, she was wrong. That wasn't the protest of someone who thought he was nuts and wanted him the hell out of her office. She was entertaining the possibility, and Ray just wanted to show her she wasn't alone.
“Shut up and let me hug you.”
She drew her breath in sharply but didn't say a word. He waited to see if she would before gently putting his arms around her. She didn't pull away, but she stood stiff and cold.
“Relax,” he whispered. “It's just a hug.”
At first, he thought she was determined to keep fighting. Then, he felt her start to slowly let go. As the tension left her body, she leaned forward slightly. His arms tightened in response, pulling her against him. A surprised thrill went through him when her own arms came up and hesitantly wrapped themselves around him.
He had intended the hug to be a brief one, just long enough for her to know she had one. The problem was that now she was in his arms and holding him, he didn't want to let her go. He felt an unexpected wave of tenderness and an irrational surge of protectiveness.
Ray started running his hand soothingly up and down her spine, thinking she was every bit as warm as he had imagined. The ice had melted at his caring touch, and he couldn't believe how much he enjoyed hugging her. She felt good and she smelled good and Ray never wanted to let go.
She relaxed into his touch and sighed, resting her face against his shoulder. Ray swallowed, knowing he should let her go before it became more than a hug to him. It was just that he was holding the Ice Queen, touching her, and she had let him in for a brief moment. As soon as he let her go, her face would do that thing it did, and her voice would lash out at him to cover up her embarrassment at letting him really see her.
It was several minutes before she began to pull away. Reluctantly, Ray let her. Her eyes met his briefly before they slid away to stare somewhere over his shoulder. Her cheeks flushed and she cleared her throat.
Ray had been right about her face. It turned calm and serene, but he was surprised when she spoke. Her voice was businesslike and serious but there was no trace of anger.
“I will...uh...I will consider your request. You do understand that while Constable Fraser is my employee, I have no control over his non-working hours?”
“Yeah. I'm just worried, you know.”
She met his eyes again briefly. “I know.”
She turned and headed to her desk, so Ray said,“I should go. I've got a Mountie's head to knock some sense into.”
“Please close the door behind you on your way out.”
“Sure.”
She was actually having a good time.
This realization surprised Meg as she sipped slightly at her drink. It was a deep red color, punch not wine, and there was enough alcohol in it to flatten a horse. She wondered if it had been Francesca trying to loosen up Fraser who had spiked it so heavily. Or maybe it had been one of the Duck Boys.
Meg smiled to herself in amusement as Turnbull ran by wielding the gun Ray had generously given him. Everyone seemed to be having a good time and Fraser had seemed to enjoy her present, at least until those detectives made their snide comments.
“Enjoying yourself, Inspector?” Lt. Welsh asked, coming over with a rare smile on his face.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Thank you for the earrings.”
“Did you like them? My ex-wife's sister picked them out.”
She knew there had to be a woman's touch in there somewhere. “They're very nice.”
He beamed and took a drink of his punch.
“Hey, what are we talkin' about?” Ray asked, joining them.
Meg felt slightly flustered by his sudden appearance. She had been avoiding him for days, embarrassed over her show of weakness.
He grinned at her, and she felt herself smiling back in spite of her awkwardness. It was hard not to when he was standing there with twinkling eyes and Fraser's hat sitting jauntily on his head.
“I was just admiring the Inspector's outfit,” Welsh said deadpan.
Meg added, “He thought he might like to borrow it.”
This made Ray laugh, and she felt foolishly pleased with herself. It had to be the punch.
“Think it'll fit?”
“On my arm, maybe,” Welsh answered dryly. “What's with the hat?”
“Looks good, huh?”
“Very handsome,” Meg told him teasingly before realizing how it sounded and sliding her eyes away. Stupid punch.
Ray winked at her. “Handsome enough to stand outside your place as a pigeon magnet?”
His eyes said he was teasing, as she had been, but their focus on her reminded her sharply of the last time she had seen him. He hadn't even hesitated when he reached for her, effortlessly smashing down the walls it had taken her years to build.
Surely, the alcohol was to blame for the warm feeling in her belly, she thought, clearing her throat as the awkward feeling returned. “Um...please excuse me. There is something I must ask Francesca.”
“Merry Christmas, Inspector.” He sounded almost fond when he said it.
“Yeah, Merry Christmas,” Lt. Welsh added.
“Merry Christmas, Detective, Lieutenant.”
She hurried away from them and towards Francesca, who was talking to Fraser. She had no idea what to say when she got to them, but wishing them Merry Christmas would make her appearance look less odd.
The conversation went much better than Meg thought it would. While Fraser wasn't drinking, Francesca was, and that—as well as Meg's own slightly tipsy state—made their conversation go more smoothly and naturally than usual.
They had actually been discussing Francesca's family's Christmas plans for at least ten minutes when Meg discovered that she had to excuse herself. The punch hadn't just made her tipsy, it had also traveled quickly through her system.
As she left Fraser and Francesca, she glanced at Welsh and saw him talking with Huey and Dewey. Ray was nowhere to be seen. This both relieved and disappointed her.
Meg went through the nearest set of doors, searching for the nearest washroom, and stopped, surprised, as she discovered Ray standing in the hallway. His grin was gone, and he was staring absently into his almost empty glass. He was in his own little world, and Meg didn't think he'd even noticed she'd come into the corridor.
She ran her gaze over his face and frowned slightly as she came to the conclusion that Ray looked rather lost. She wondered what was going through is mind. Was he missing holidays past? Perhaps he was remembering happy Christmases spent with Stella before their marriage fell apart. For some reason, the thought made her sad.
Meg bit her lip indecisively. Should she say something or should she slip away before he realized she was there? She looked into her own glass, hoping to find an answer, before turning her eyes to Ray once more. In that second look, she noticed something she hadn't seen with her first glance. It was green, and it hung right above Ray's head. Meg squinted, trying to see it more clearly, and then swallowed.
It was mistletoe.
She felt heat come to her cheeks as she considered giving in to tradition. She wondered what he'd say, what he'd do. The image raced around in her head before she quickly pushed it away. She should go back to the party—or at least find another washroom. That would be the smart thing to do.
Meg started to turn away and stopped. Another, more powerful picture came to her. She remembered the way it had felt when he hugged her. He had been so firm, so real. Though she hadn't dared to show him in any way, the hug had meant something to her. It had been the first time in years that someone had just held her with no ulterior motives. She had felt cared for. She had felt cherished.
The alcohol sang in her veins, making her bold. With the picture still in her mind, she took another sip and started moving towards him.
She was almost to him before he noticed her.
“Hey, Inspector.”
“Hello, Ray.” Meg purposefully used his first name as she crossed the last couple of feet between them.
“Still enjoying the...”
His words trailed off as she leaned forward and kissed his cheek softly. Instead of quickly pulling away, she let her lips linger for several seconds. Amusement flitted through her at how easily she had stolen his thoughts.
“What...?”
“Mistletoe.”
“Huh?”
Suddenly feeling embarrassed, she reached for the professional tone the punch had stolen from her. “You were standing under the mistletoe. Don't read too much into it.”
She started to step away, determined to go home before she got herself in trouble, but his hand caught her arm. The flush staining her cheeks was from more than just the alcohol as she waited for whatever teasing comment was about to fall from his mouth.
Ray looked up.
“We still are,” he said quietly.
“Still are what?”
“Standing under the mistletoe.”
“Well, yes,” she agreed, puzzled. “I suppose we...”
Meg's words were cut off as he suddenly pressed his lips to hers. He tasted sweet, like candy and the punch they had been drinking. She was surprised at the tingle that went through her body at the contact and, without even thinking, she kissed him back. At her response, his hand loosened on her arm and trailed deliciously over her skin as he moved closer.
Her eyes drifted closed as the hand settled at her waist, and she opened her mouth to him when the other came up to cup her face.
The kiss was over before she wanted it to be. She opened her eyes to see Ray looking at her in stunned wonder.
“Uh...” he said.
“I'm sorry, Detective,” she replied immediately, not even sure why she was apologizing.
“For what?” he asked, his eyes drifting down her face intimately. She wondered what he was looking for.
“I hope you don't think...”
He reached out and trailed the tips of his fingers down her cheek. Meg was suddenly unable to speak.
“You should come with me tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah. There's a big dinner at noon at the Vecchios'. Ma told me to bring someone. Wanna come?”
She wondered what exactly he was offering. The alcohol and the lingering power of his kiss made it hard to think. Was he asking her on a date? Was it a pity invite because she was alone for the holidays? Was it just one friend reaching out a warm and caring hand to another? Whatever the reason, it probably wasn't a very good idea.
“It's nice of you to offer, Detective...”
“Call me 'Ray'.”
She couldn't help but obey, mostly because he was still holding her and their bodies were pressed delightfully—and distractingly-- together.
“It's nice of you to ask, Ray, but I don't want to intrude.”
“No intrusion. I want you to come.”
She wavered. “I don't know.”
“Come on,” he wheedled, giving her a quick but firm kiss on the mouth. “Please?”
“All right, Ray, I'll come.” She gave in, savoring the taste of candy and punch on her lips.
“It'll be good. You'll see,” he promised, kissing her again.
They never did make it back to the party.
Meg woke languidly, enjoying the feel of her warm bed and the knowledge that she didn't have to get up for work. She drifted along as thoughts started slipping into her mind.
It had been snowing when she went to bed...It was Christmas day...She should really get up and open the presents her family had sent so she'd be able to thank them when they called sometime in the next couple of hours. The presents were sitting with the surprisingly tasteful earrings Welsh had given her at the Christmas party...
Meg's eyes popped open, and she groaned as memories came flooding back to her. Had she really made out with Ray Kowalski? Although she had had enough to drink to lower her inhibitions drastically, it hadn't been enough to make her memories fuzzy. The images were crystal clear. Not only had she made out with Ray, but she had done it with enthusiastic abandon.
She blushed furiously and drew the covers over her head. What had she been thinking? Well, obviously she hadn't been or she wouldn't have tried to devour the detective.
He had tasted good, she had to admit. Did he always taste like candy? The taste still lingered in her mouth, and she could still feel his skin as it brushed against hers. Despite the fact that their kisses had been alcohol induced and wrong, Meg let herself enjoy the memory.
As she lie there in the darkness under the covers, she knew she had two options. She could either avoid him forever or seek him out after the holidays and tell him in no uncertain terms that the kiss had meant nothing. Of course, he was probably preparing to tell her the same thing.
She was so embarrassed.
The flames licked at her face and startled butterflies took flight in her stomach as she thought of facing Ray again. Would his memories of their kisses be as sharp as her own? Maybe she'd be lucky and he had been drunk enough to forget everything after he swiped Fraser's Stetson.
He had looked adorable in it. The thought came from nowhere and Meg angrily squashed it.
The Detective was not adorable. He was not kissable. He was not warm and firm. He was not sweet. He was the same old annoying smart ass he'd always been. She told herself this and refused to listen to the voice in her head that tried to tell her she had enjoyed their session under the mistletoe immensely.
Not wanting to think about it any more—not the way his hands made her tingle when they trailed across her skin, not the way he knew the exact place on her neck to kiss her that would make her knees weak...Dammit!--she threw off the covers and padded to the bathroom.
She felt a little better when she emerged about a half hour later after a shower and a quick brush of her hair and teeth. Since she was planning to spend the day alone, she threw her pajamas back on. After all, the only people who would be thinking about her today wouldn't be able to see her over the telephone. She planned on sitting on her couch curled up in the afghan her grandmother had made for her and watching sappy Christmas movies, pretending she believed in happy endings.
First, though, she'd have to open her presents. If they weren't open by the time her nieces and nephews called, the children would be disappointed. They always got up at an obscene hour on Christmas morning, so the call could come any second.
Meg glanced at the clock; almost 8:30. It would be 9:30 in Toronto. It was amazing she hadn't received a call already.
She had barely managed to finish unwrapping the few things under her tree when the calls started. It had been four years since she'd been able to spend Christmas with her whole family, and everyone had to call and tell her how much they missed her at the big family dinner her sister decided she needed to throw this year. It made her homesick, so she was almost glad when the calls stopped right before eleven.
With a sigh, she turned on the TV just in time to see the beginning of It's a Wonderful Life. Meg was a closet Frank Capra fan, and It's a Wonderful Life was one of her favorite movies. Pleased, she fished her afghan off the back of her couch and wrapped it around her. It's embrace was so familiar that it was almost as comforting as a real hug.
Almost.
She had managed to avoid thinking of Ray for the last couple of hours, but suddenly, there he was again. She was still puzzled over why he had felt the need to give her that sweet hug. It had been almost as if he knew how disappointed and sad she felt, how much she missed her family. Meg swallowed. Talking to them hadn't been nearly enough. She was starting to hate Christmas.
Meg was just about to flop onto the couch when her doorbell rang. She looked down at her pajamas and frowned, wondering who could be at the door. Briefly, she considered going to change but decided not to bother. She was in flannel pajamas not some skimpy nightdress.
Turning down the television, she went to answer the door. Her mouth fell open slightly when she discovered Ray on the other side.
He seemed to be as surprised as she was. His eyes widened and then traveled from her face down her pajama clad body.
“Is that what you're wearin'?” he asked.
For the second time that day, a blush raced across her face, and Meg pulled her afghan more tightly around her. She hadn't expected to see anyone, least of all Ray, and her mind took the opportunity to remind her exactly what they had been doing the last time they were together.
“What are you talking about?” she snapped, trying to hide her discomfort.
“To dinner.”
“Dinner? I don't...” Oh. Suddenly, she remembered the invitation Ray had given her while they were under the mistletoe.
“You know. At Ma's. I'm here to pick you up.”
She took a step back, unnerved by his closeness and the way his eyes were searching her face.
“You can't be serious.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” she said in exasperation, taking another step back when he came in and shut the door. His hair was combed down and, even though he was in jeans, he had on a nice shirt.
“Because?”
How was she supposed to answer this? Because he had been drinking when he asked her? Because it would be wrong? Because he didn't like her?
She settled for, “We made a mistake.”
That was simple enough.
He put his hands in his jacket pockets. He wasn't wearing gloves, and she wondered if they were cold.
“It's just dinner, Meg.”
It was the first time he'd ever said her name. She swallowed
“I don't want you to think that...” To think that what? Her mind searched for the words. “Listen, I'm sorry if you feel there was more to our kiss last night than there was.”
“Kisses.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Kisses,” he repeated. Taking one of his hands out of his pocket, he reached for her. She watched in fascination, unable to move. “Here.” He brushed her lips with his fingertips, an uncomfortably intimate gesture. They were cold, as she had guessed. “And here.” They moved across her jaw, and she still could not move. “And here.” His fingers traced her neck and fluttered across her collarbone.
“Ray, I...” The words were meant to be firm but they were shaky with the sudden spark of desire he had awakened with his gentle touches.
“You know,” he said softly, “a week or two ago, I might have agreed with you. Now, not so much. I liked kissin' you, and I wanna do it again...and I want you to come with me to Ma Vecchio's for dinner instead of sittin' here all by yourself. It's Christmas.”
She hardened her face and her voice. “I don't want your pity.”
“Is that what last night felt like to you?”
“We were...Well, we weren't ourselves.” He had shoved his hand back in his pocket. Perversely, she wanted him to touch her again. “We had too much of the punch.”
“Maybe it was what we needed.”
“I can't believe I'm having this discussion with you.”
“Are you gonna get dressed or what?”
“Do you really want me to go?”
“Yeah.”
She bit her lip and studied him. He looked so serious.
“I won't hit on you or nothin',” he continued, “If you want last night to be just a one time thing, I'm okay with that.”
“I never considered the possibility that you wouldn't. Want it to be a solitary incident, I mean.”
“It was real nice, and it's been awhile.”
“For me as well,” she admitted. The Spanish Ambassador from a couple of months before didn't count. He had groped her a bit and fallen asleep in the back of the limo.
“Wanna try again? See if it feels good without drinkin'?”
She knew it would. The touch of his fingertips had shown her that much.
“Without mistletoe?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Oh, I've got mistletoe,” his hand appeared holding something green.
She let out a short, startled laugh, and he smiled at her sheepishly.
“A guy's gotta have hope, right?”
“Are you really sure this is what you want?”
He shrugged. “It's just a kiss, right?”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“I'm not on one knee, Insp...Meg. I'm lonely. You're lonely. What harm is there in a kiss?”
There was a lot of harm in it. One kiss could lead to two. Two kisses could lead to wanting. Wanting could lead to needing. Could she afford to go there again?
She stepped towards him feeling almost shy without the liquid courage that had pushed her the last time. His scent surrounded her as he reached out and once more traced her jaw. Meg swallowed and closed her eyes as he bent slowly and captured her lips with his.
He still tasted like candy was the only coherent thought in her brain as she wrapped her arms eagerly around him to pull him closer. She melted as his hands caressed her, and her afghan, now that she had another embrace, fell to the floor.
It was several minutes before the need for air pulled them apart. She stared at him, and he stared at her.
Meg cleared her throat. “Well, I'd better get dressed then.”
“You're coming?”
She nodded. “How could I say no to an invitation like that?”
“Good.” He released her. “I'll wait here.”
“I wasn't suggesting you help.” Though after that kiss, this brought a tantalizing image into her mind.
“Too bad.” He grinned cheekily.
She just shook her head and left him watching George and Mary singing, “Buffalo Gals”. As she went towards her room, she felt happier and lighter. She never would have thought anything could happen between her and the hard headed detective, but now her mind was opening, filling her with interesting possibilities.
First, though, she had to survive a dinner with the Vecchios. The idea should have terrified her; it amused her instead.
Meg smiled as she reached for her favorite black dress. She wondered if Ray would like her in it.